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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185767">A Test Of Strength</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepetulantpen/pseuds/thepetulantpen'>thepetulantpen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Masked Bard [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Swordfighting, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, absolute shenanigans, just what it says on the tin more or less, the boys fight but in a fun way</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:00:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,971</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185767</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepetulantpen/pseuds/thepetulantpen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Are you sure you want to do this?”</em>
</p><p>  <em>“Yes. Are you scared for me or you?”</em></p><p>  <em>“Little of both? What if you maim me and have to live with the guilt forever? What if I beat you and irreparably destroy your pride?”</em></p><p>  <em>“I’m not going to hurt you and you’re not going to beat me. It’ll be fine.”</em></p><p> <br/>In which Geralt and Jaskier spar.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Masked Bard [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745521</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>424</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Test Of Strength</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set an undetermined amount of time after "you were raised by wolves and voices". It'd probably be best to read that first to get an idea of the characterization in this au, but don't let me tell you what to do.</p><p>Inspired by a comment from hardlifeyourlife, who wanted to see them fight!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Are you <em>sure</em> you want to do this?”</p><p>Geralt scowls, starting to reach his breaking point after being asked for the third time. “<em>Yes</em>. Are you scared for me or you?”</p><p>“Little of both?” Jaskier shrugs, the teasing glint in his eyes thwarting Geralt’s attempts to read him. “What if you maim me and have to live with the guilt forever? What if I beat you and irreparably destroy your pride?”</p><p>“I’m not going to hurt you and you’re not going to beat me. It’ll be fine.”</p><p>“Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?” Jaskier elbows Geralt, lightly. Not at all like they’re about to be in a sword fight. “I’ll remind you that you’ve never seen my incredible skills before. Maybe you’re being hasty by underestimating your friendly bard.”</p><p>It had occurred to Geralt, actually, but he’s trying not to think too hard about it. “You’re out of practice, old man.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” Jaskier gasps, offended, but the effect is dampened by the laughter he doesn’t catch in time. “You know, I was going to go easy on you, but not anymore. Now you’ve wounded <em>my</em> pride.”</p><p>“Good. I want a fair fight, Jaskier.” Jaskier nods and Geralt grabs his arm- not roughly, but enough to get his attention. “I’m serious. I want to see your full effort.”</p><p>Jaskier rolls his eyes and pats Geralt’s hand- an approximation of comfort, though the gesture is patronizing, at best. “Yes, yes. I promise to try my absolute hardest.”</p><p>It’s not the first time Geralt’s heard that, and it’s not the first time he doesn’t believe it. He’s not sure he can believe anything, at this rate.</p><p>
  <em>“What do you mean you’ve been letting me win?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jaskier stops his tankard halfway to his face, realizing what he’s just admitted. He puts down his drink and leans forward, quick to placate Geralt. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“It’s not-“</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“All this time? I can’t believe-“</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“It just seemed so important to you! It’s not a big deal, really, I bet you could probably beat me anyway-“</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Rematch. Now.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yennefer lost her mind laughing when Jaskier won his first arm wrestling match, looking guilty even through the haze of drunkenness. Geralt refused to speak for the rest of the night- his tantrum only partially due to him being piss-drunk. </em>
</p><p>It’s- he <em>knows</em> it’s stupid. But there’s something about the realization that Jaskier has been hiding his strength- even for unimportant things like arm-wrestling contests- that’s bothering him.</p><p>The idea stuck in his head, until it boiled over into a short argument with Jaskier- one that had ended, miraculously, in his victory. Jaskier is here, after all, and has <em>promised</em> his genuine participation in this little sparring match.</p><p>There were even negotiations, beforehand, to make it as fair as possible. Jaskier had played along, even though Geralt knows he doesn’t really care about the outcome. He does, however, have faith that Jaskier will try, if only because he realizes this is important to Geralt.</p><p>First, no armor. Jaskier couldn’t be bothered to get something fitted that he’ll never use again, despite Geralt’s insistence that he should have armor anyway, if he’s tagging along on hunts. Even offering to pay hadn’t been enough to get him into a set of leathers (“It’s not a good look on me and it’s <em>uncomfortable</em>- stop laughing, this is serious.”).</p><p>Second, Jaskier gets first pick of sword. There was some debate on that point- on one hand, Geralt is practiced and likely imbued with stronger mutagens, but on the other, Jaskier has an unspecified amount of experience and skill. Still, Jaskier wins, taking the silver- the lighter of the two- and Geralt takes the steel- the more durable.</p><p>Third, flirtation and singing have been strictly banned. Jaskier argued that distraction was a perfectly respectable and practical part of sword fighting and Geralt had… well, Geralt had simply growled his dissent.</p><p>Now, Geralt stands somewhat uncomfortably in just his linen shirt and pants while Jaskier takes a few practice swings through the air. They’re the sort a theater performer would practice, all dramatic flourishes and overly advertised intent. The act would almost be enough to convince an unsuspecting audience he’s an amateur, if it wasn’t for the size and weight of the sword that Jaskier wields one-handed. As if it were an ornamental rapier and not a fucking greatsword.</p><p>He catches Geralt watching and shoots grin over his shoulder. “It’s not too late to back out, you know. I can be very intimidating.”</p><p>“I’m more concerned for my sword than myself.” Geralt resists the urge, barely, to step up and correct Jaskier’s grip. “You do know how to hold that thing, don’t you?”</p><p>Jaskier sighs, long suffering, and tosses the sword a short distance in the air. When he catches it, he turns and slides his feet at the same time, ending up in a perfect stance, sword pointed toward Geralt. He’s dropped the act, but he still has that stupid grin on his face, which Geralt is convinced will physically dull the blade after so much exposure.</p><p>“You’re no fun. Has anyone ever told you that?”</p><p>Geralt hums and unsheathes the steel sword, walking back the appropriate amount of paces. “Are you ready?”</p><p>“I guess so. I’ll have to brush the dust off all my heroism that’s been lying around, unused. Get the rust out my joints and—“</p><p>“Jaskier.”</p><p>“Kidding! With Roach as my witness, I swear I’ll use every inch of skill in my little body to score victory against the terrifying, legendary White Wolf. I hear they write <em>songs</em> about that guy- honestly, it seems like an uneven matchup.”</p><p>Roach snorts, unimpressed, behind them and goes back to demolishing what little grass remains in this clearing.</p><p>Geralt sighs and gets into position, willing himself to <em>concentrate</em>.</p><p>With all the teasing, he’s genuinely unsure what he’ll be facing in this duel. Jaskier is an enigma in that it is equally likely he could be hiding real skill or bluffing to cover up for a lack of practice.</p><p>He can’t even reliably say that he’ll fighting a <em>witcher</em>. Jaskier is not an ordinary witcher by any means, and Geralt has no idea what the decades could’ve done to the habits he built at Kaer Morhen. This won’t be anything like sparring with Lambert or Eskel, nor will it be like trading blows with a bard trained in bar-fights.</p><p>An unknown opponent is the most dangerous enemy a witcher can face on the Path, so Geralt starts cautiously, shifting into a defensive stance. Jaskier notices but doesn’t say anything, just smirks.</p><p>“I’ll count us down.” Geralt’s eyes lock on Jaskier, filtering out everything except him. His own voice sounds strange, as if overheard from far away. “Three, two—“</p><p>Jaskier strikes first, because <em>of course</em> he does. It’s more a feint than anything else- too reckless to be useful, nothing he could reasonably expect to follow through on.</p><p>Geralt almost growls at him to take this seriously, but Jaskier turns unexpectedly, <em>almost</em> landing a hit low, near Geralt’s knees. Nasty, enough to incapacitate someone quickly, even with the flat of the blade.</p><p>After the first strike, Jaskier retreats into a defensive position. His stance is flawless, and his instincts guide him through dodging and parrying, but there’s only so much fighting to be done subconsciously when you’re on even ground with your opponent. Geralt can see his face pinched in concentration, likely recalling maneuvers he hasn’t needed to bother with in decades. </p><p>He almost lands a few strikes that way, taking advantage of Jaskier’s slightly slower reflexes, unused to the speed of battle. He’ll feel bad about it later, if he wins, but for now, his mind has cut off any function not strictly necessary to win.  </p><p>Jaskier backs out of the way of another swing, nearly cornering himself against the cluster of trees at the edge of the clearing. He twists and ducks under Geralt’s sword, making himself a small, moving target, unimpeded by leather armor.</p><p>Jaskier moving fluidly in just his undershirt and trousers, free of the stiff embroidery of the doublet he normally performs in, is reminiscent of his usual prancing around taverns- around and on top of tables, hopping onto a bar or stage as if it wasn’t an obstacle at all. Geralt has just a moment to consider that the no armor rule may have been a mistake before Jaskier is whirling around, flat of the sword slamming into Geralt’s ribs and forcing the breath out of him.</p><p>It’s not enough to trip him up- Geralt has been doing this as long as he’s been alive, which is, coincidentally, a long fucking time. He takes three strikes in quick succession, not leaving enough time for Jaskier to do anything but partially parry and step out of the way. His blade moves as an extension his body; he knows how to cut through an opponent’s defenses just as well as he knows how to walk.</p><p>Jaskier tries to twist away again and is met with Geralt’s blade- it’s an imprecise strike and ends up dragging a line across Jaskier’s upper arm. The smell of blood in the air puts Geralt on edge but he tamps down unnecessary concern; if he doesn’t concentrate, it could be him who needs healing in a few minutes.</p><p>Jaskier doesn’t retaliate, putting as much space between him and Geralt as he can manage in the seconds before Geralt’s next attack. His eyes are beginning to look sharper, pupils dilating at the drawing of blood.</p><p>Geralt sees the moment Jaskier grits his teeth and <em>shifts</em>. Teeth bared, eyes narrowed. He meets Geralt’s next strike and matches his growl. The swords shriek their protest as they scrape against each other and Geralt grins, fangs out.</p><p>“Come on, Jaskier. Don’t hold out on me.”</p><p>As if waiting for an invitation, Jaskier pushes forward, breaking his defensive stance completely for the first time since they’ve started. His strikes increase in power as he opens up, footwork looser and faster.</p><p>It’s still imperfect- probably more so. Jaskier seems to have dropped the pretense of trying to keep his defenses properly in place, or sticking only to maneuvers he’s mastered. Instead, he puts everything he has into half-remembered strategies and his movements become more impulsive, fast and daring rather than smooth and unsure.</p><p>Jaskier lurches back from another swing as if pulled and Geralt chases him, forcing him to face off without retreating. They’re face to face again- or, as face to face as they can be, with the height difference.</p><p>Geralt considers Jaskier a fairly small man. Not dramatically smaller than Geralt, but definitely without the obvious bulk, his strength not immediately apparent until he’s in action. Generally, Geralt equates small with fast and dexterous. Jaskier is certainly those things- but he’s also <em>strong</em>. As strong as any other witcher, as strong as Geralt.</p><p>He forgets that, just as Jaskier lowers his sword arm and pushes forward shoulder first, digging into Geralt’s stomach and driving them both back, back, back—</p><p>Geralt feels more than he sees or hears the tree splinter as it meets his back. The wood creaks dangerously and the threat of imminent collapse forces Geralt to break away, bringing the shards of branch embedded in his armor-less shoulders with him.</p><p>Jaskier’s sword is already raised to parry Geralt when he lashes out, but he’s not prepared for Geralt to bounce back from the missed strike immediately, bringing the blade up over his head and back down onto Jaskier’s shoulder. Using the flat of the sword, there’s no damage, but the force of it makes Jaskier drop away with a hiss, hastily trying to put his guard back up.</p><p>Geralt stalks forward while Jaskier is still sliding back into position and has to reel back again when Jaskier abandons his defense and shoves forward, blade aimed perfectly for Geralt’s chest.</p><p>It could’ve been enough to force a draw, but hesitation flashes across Jaskier’s face for split second- eyes softening, snarl relaxing- and Geralt dives forward instead, slamming bodily into Jaskier and taking them both down.</p><p>They end up on top of each other, the steel blade hovering just over Jaskier’s neck.</p><p>Jaskier huffs a breathless laugh, face transforming startlingly quickly back to his normal, easygoing smile. “Looks like you win.”</p><p>Geralt shifts the blade out of the way but doesn’t move, frowning down at Jaskier only an inch from his face. His arm is still braced on across Jaskier’s shoulders- but Jaskier could probably break out of the hold, if he wanted.</p><p>“You pulled your last strike.”</p><p>“I did no such thing!” Jaskier scoffs and attempts to cross his arms, while still beneath Geralt. “I would <em>never</em> disrespect the integrity of a fight between two righteous warriors. Honestly, Geralt, we’re going to have a talk about these trust issues.”</p><p>Jaskier’s heartbeat is impossible read, still slightly fast from the battle, and his smile is even more indecipherable. Geralt hums and resigns himself, <em>again</em>, to never really knowing what Jaskier is thinking.</p><p>He stands and gives Jaskier a hand, pulling him easily to his feet. The swords- one lying a foot away, where Jaskier dropped it once he was pinned, and the other beside it, where Geralt placed it- will need to be cleaned and oiled but Jaskier seems preoccupied with the dirt in his hair, on his skin, and staining his clothes.</p><p>“Should’ve borrowed <em>your</em> clothes for this, it’s not as if they could get any worse,” Jaskier grumbles, watching Geralt sheathe the swords and tie them to Roach, “You owe me a drink. And a bath.”</p><p>“<em>You</em> owe me a drink. You lost.”</p><p>“If you wanted something like that, you should’ve placed a bet beforehand.” Jaskier <em>tsks</em> and steps up to tighten one of the straps Geralt missed. “As it stands now, you owe me for this little duel you wanted so desperately and for the emotional trauma.”</p><p>Geralt looks over his shoulder, finding Jaskier pressed close as he reaches over him to exchange the sword for his lute. “You didn’t seem traumatized when you tried to use me to fell a tree.”</p><p>“Would it be more convincing if I cry? I have multiple methods, for achieving such effects—“</p><p>“<em>Alright</em>.” Geralt sighs, overly dramatic to cover for his grin. “I’ll pay for the bath and you’ll pay for the drinks. Happy?”</p><p>“Very. I’ll also be writing a song about this experience.”</p><p>Geralt groans and heaves himself onto Roach to avoid looking at Jaskier’s victory smirk. “I’m not sure my heroic reputation will be improved by the tale of me pressing a blade to a defenseless bard’s throat.”</p><p>“Well, I’d obviously win in my retelling. Creative license.”</p><p>“Being beat by a defenseless bard, then. That’s almost worse-“ Geralt cuts himself off and turns sharply to Jaskier, grabbing his arm. “Shit, I forgot- are you still bleeding?”</p><p>It’s a stupid question- both because he’s looking at the wound in question and because a relatively shallow wound on a witcher would’ve long since closed by now. There’s not even a scar- just a faint red mark where the skin knitted itself back together and a trail of blood forming a sticky stain down Jaskier’s sleeve.</p><p>“No, dear,” Jaskier rolls his eyes and adds, not unkindly, “I’m a little tougher than I look.”</p><p>Geralt hums, playing at disbelief, to Jaskier’s dismay, and turns toward the road, bracing himself to exit the private world of him and Jaskier as they head back towards what passes for civilization these days. Jaskier smiles brilliantly, teeth showing for a second in a final flash of witcher before he dons a mask, shrugs into a sequined jacket, and swings the lute strap over his shoulder.</p><p>“Off to new adventure! And baths, definitely baths.” Jaskier gets in front of Roach before Geralt can move them out of the clearing, and gestures grandly. “We’ll be a duo- two fearless witchers, side by side.”</p><p>“Fearless, now? What happened to traumatized?”</p><p>“Perhaps <em>fearless</em> is inaccurate.” Jaskier spins around, raising his hands to his lute, and tilts his head back, towards Geralt. “After all, you seemed downright terrified when I had you pinned against the tree.”</p><p>“What about when <em>I</em> had you—“</p><p>They both jump when the tree across the clearing gives one final death creak and falls over, sending up a cloud of dust and dirt. The sound is spectacularly loud- dozens of old branches snapping and scraping against each other.</p><p>Jaskier’s hand catches on a lute string, sounding a series of wrong chords, and Geralt almost gets off Roach- then, almost <em>falls</em> off Roach when he stops halfway. Jaskier grabs Geralt’s sleeve and Geralt grabs his, tugging each other back to their original positions.</p><p>Geralt clears his throat, first. “We should go.”</p><p>“Yep,” Jaskier nods, enthusiastically, “nothing to see here. Just a witcher and his bard, accustomed to the dangers of the wild.”</p><p>“Absolutely not startled by falling trees.”</p><p>“Gods, no. We’re professionals.”</p><p>The tree does not get a line in the song- though, if the White Wolf is portrayed a little more cowardly than usual, no one is the wiser. Technically, Jaskier cannot be held responsible for audience interpretation.</p><p>Geralt is listening- more than Jaskier knows. He catches every cliché description of his… physique and every double entendre about swords, adding them to a steadily growing list. That’s his little secret, his arsenal of lyrics that Jaskier doesn’t know he’s memorized. He’s got years’ worth of blackmail in honey-sweet words that he realizes, in hindsight, were Jaskier publicly pining- enough embarrassing material to make up for the indignity of being allowed to win arm wrestling matches for <em>years</em>.</p><p>Enough leverage, he reasons, to earn him a demand for a fair rematch- which, of course, has nothing to do with his <em>appreciation</em> of Jaskier’s strength and skill with a sword.</p><p>Nothing at all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't know why the idea of Jaskier and Geralt arm wrestling is so funny to me but it's once again made a comeback along with a brief Yennefer cameo because I just can't help myself. Also, I tried my best to eliminate innuendos but sword fighting is absurdly homoerotic. Only so much I can do y'know?</p><p>I'm trying to get more practice writing fight scenes, so let me know what you think! I'll probably be adding more shenanigans like this to this AU, since I love witcher!Jaskier and my obsession with the Witcher shows no signs of stopping. Let me know if there’s anything you’d like to see- though, I’ve been majorly unproductive lately, so no promises.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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